The Trouble With Love
by attheturnofthetide
Summary: Previously "Lovers' Day Mishaps". The Lovers' Day Festival is coming up in one week. All the elves already have dates! Lindir, Erestor and Glorfindel: no lady friends whatsoever, bachelor elves all the way! But the twins have blackmailed Glorfindel into going on a blind date at the festival... What will happen next?
1. Oh Woe, It's Almost Lovers' Day!

**Chapter 1: Oh Woe, It's Almost Lovers' Day!  
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"NO," said Glorfindel. The Balrog-slayer's two golden eyebrows were fiercely knotted above his eyes, his hands clenched and his teeth gritted together. The only thing that betrayed our golden warrior's fear was the sweat beading around his face.

"C'mon, Glorfy," begged Elladan. "Y–"

"My _name_," said Glorfindel, a dangerous glint beginning to grow in his eyes, "is _not _'Glorfy', nor will it ever be. And as for the Lovers' Day Festival, that is entirely out of question. Not on my life. Over my dead body."

"That can be arranged," said Elrohir. "But Elladan doesn't like blood. So let's put it this way: you go to the festival with a lady that _we _choose, and we don't tell Dad that you were the one who broke Mom's antique vase from Doriath. Both ways, it's a win-win."

"Not really," mumbled Glorfindel.

"I beg to differ," said Elladan brightly. "If we do this our way, Glorfy, Elrohir and I get the honour of seeing Rivendell's bravest warrior humiliated, and you get a free pass from our father's legendary temper."

"Yes, but–"

"No buts. We already have the date planned for you."

"_DATE_?"

While this torturous conversation was going on, Lindir was having a marvelous time with Erestor, testing out a new cake recipe.

"Could do with a bit less sugar," suggested Erestor.

"Don't be such a wet blanket," retorted one of the cooks. "We all know you like the bland cakes. Lindir? What do you think?"

Lindir could not answer; he had a mouthful of cake crumbs in his mouth and he feared what would happen to the freshly polished floor if he dared say a word.

Once he swallowed the whole shebang, Lindir cleared his throat.

"That," he said, drawing out the syllables, "was _heaven_."

"Someone who appreciates my work!" beamed the cook, and Erestor rolled his eyes.

"NO!" came Glorfindel's voice from the hall.

"Uh oh," said Lindir. "Better run. See you later, and thanks!"

He sprinted in the opposite direction of where the said elf's voice was coming from, and promptly ran smack into Silinde.

"Sorry!" Lindir said, and did a quick circle around his friend.

"Don't scamper around all day, Lindir," Silinde called. "Lord Elrond says all elves are to help with the Lovers' Day Festival preparations, since it's next week. Did you know that Haldir and his brothers are coming? I heard that the twins have blackmailed every bachelor elf into coming to Rivendell with a date. From what I heard, Haldir's coming with Uruviel. Remember her? The really pretty girl who's distantly related to Saelbeth? I wonder how that happened!"

"Most likely Orophin asked," replied Lindir as he ran. "Haldir would rather cut off his own head than ask a lady to the festival. No offense."

"It's true," said Silinde. "Well, anyways, see you around. I'm going to ask Elwen to the festival. She hates me more than Haldir does. Wish me luck."

"Good luck," said Lindir, but Silinde was now too far away to hear.

Lindir suddenly had second thoughts about going to see Glorfindel. As the saying goes, if the elf is angry, do not provoke him further.

So he headed towards a crowd of elves near the library.

"What's going on?" he said.

"We're dividing up the cleaning," someone replied. "You're weeding and watering the garden with Erestor."

"Thanks," said Lindir, and he walked to the garden, feeling a bit giddy. It wasn't every day that an elf could get a chore he actually liked. And as for the garden– that was surely better than scrubbing dishes, wasn't it?

Glorfindel was mopping the floor violently when Erestor found him.

"Er… hi," said Erestor.

"Good afternoon," Glorfindel barked. "What do you want?"

"…never mind."

Erestor scooted away as fast as he could to the garden, where he was supposed to be watering the petunias.

"What's wrong?" asked Lindir. Erestor frowned.

"Our grumpy friend over there is in a snit again."

"Oh. The twins did something bad again, didn't they?"

"Who knows?"

Not exactly, dear Reader. The twins were completely innocent for once; it was merely Glorfindel being a bother. He had been thinking about this festival for a very long time already, since last winter, and was hoping he could conveniently catch a cold. But then again, elves don't get sick.

"I hate Lovers' Day," he mumbled. And, of course, dear Reader, it was true. Lovers' Day, or Valentine's Day in your world, is a strain and a dreadful position to be in if you are a single elf (or elf maiden). Glorfindel had gone through hundreds of thousands of Lovers' Days in his room, staring at the rosebush below his window. It didn't help that his fans (who only cared about his Balrog-slaying skills) kept swarming through Rivendell searching for him.

"I _HATE_ LOVE!"

Glorfindel flung the mop at the nearest thing, which was Silinde.

"OWCH!"

Glorfindel gave him a withering glance and went to fetch his mop (which had bonked Silinde's head, ricocheted around crazily, and landed in the water fountain outside).

"Love problems?" asked Silinde. "_You_?"

"SHUT UP," Glorfindel returned, and Silinde shut up.

He mopped the room over again, and stomped to the next. Spring cleaning– yet another of Rivendell's best warrior's pet peeves.

At last, evening came, and the elves changed into cleaner clothes. Glorfindel sat glumly outside the dining hall and watched the twins (who were walking around the corner) with narrowed eyes. His ears pricked up (literally!) as he heard his name.

"… lady… elf… festival," said Elladan. (Or was it Elrohir?)

"… dress him up… lady… party," said Elrohir. (Or was it Elladan?)

Curse the twins and their look-alikeness! Glorfindel scowled again.

"… walls… ears," said one of the twins (this was probably Elladan, who was a bit smarter than the other).

They walked out of earshot, and Glorfindel hissed to himself.

He shuddered to think who in Rivendell (or Lothlorien, or Mirkwood, since all elves were gathering on Lovers' Day) the twins would choose. For his date.

Glorfindel, to be honest, was already regretting the moment he let the twins talk him into this.

At about twilight, Lindir finished his dinner. It was the price of being temporary gardener: those flowers drank more water than they should. Especially the posies. Then there was weeding, which Erestor did, and trimming the bushes, which took more time, since Lindir could not get the hang of using the clippers.

But anyway, it was done. He sighed, and drank the rest of his soup. Lovers' Day was next week, and Lindir was sure to be sitting in the shadows, alone, like all the other years.

Erestor popped out of nowhere and Lindir jumped.

"What is it?"

Erestor's hair was nearly standing on end (a pitiful sight), his eyes were three times as big, and his usually perfectly clipped nails were chewed up and tattered.

"Calamity! Distress!" moaned Erestor.

"Erestor–"

"Doom! DOOM!"

"Uh–"

"PLAGUE upon those TWINS!"

"But–"

"CATASTROPHE–DISASTER–MISHAPPENINGS–oh, WOE!"

"GOOD VALAR, JUST TELL ME WHAT'S WRONG!"

Erestor, surprised by Lindir's sudden outburst, calmed down a bit.

"The TWINS took my BEST CALLIGRAHY PAPER as well as MY FAVOURITE PEN and MY FAVOURITE INK and–"

"Let me guess, your favourite bunny slippers, too," said Lindir drily.

"YES!" screamed Erestor. "Spare me this TRIBULATION!"

"You must've swallowed a thesaurus," said Lindir. "Well, calm down. Have some grapes here. I'm going to bed, and if I'm woken up before noon, someone will have to pay."


	2. Potential Dates and Awkward Situations

**Chapter 2: Potential Dates and Awkward Situations  
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Morning came, with bright and furious spendour. Lindir was still snoring slightly, wrapped in no less than three blankets, so Erestor did not enter his room. He peeked in the next room, and saw Glorfindel unsuccessfully trying to tame his shining (and tangled) locks.

"Need help?"

"No, I don't. Go away."

Erestor wisely slipped out of his room and into the hall. He followed the smell of honey cakes into the kitchen, where ten cooks were arguing over a recipe.

"You don't need a taster this morning?" he asked.

"No, thank you," said the prettiest one. Celenil– that was her name, maybe. "But we _would_ appreciate if you went to get a few more jars of honey from the storeroom. We're out again."

"Anything for you," said Erestor without thinking.

Nine cooks erupted into shrieking laughter. One turned a brilliant red.

Erestor was the same matching red. He decided to escape while he could. Never mind the honey.

It seemed now, dear Reader, that two of the three reluctant friends have potential dates for the upcoming festival.

If, horrors of horrors, Erestor would ask her.

Time passed, as the elves of Rivendell swept and mopped, polished and scrubbed. Soon, it was four days until the festival.

Glorfindel and Erestor would both turn vermilion when any elf asked them about who they would go with (that is, Glorfindel would stutter and gradually turn redder, while Erestor would mumble and immediately turn a glaring bright red).

Lindir did not know what was wrong with them.

Silinde was happy as a daisy in the breeze– his beloved Elwen, after fifteen hundred attempts, had accepted and for the first time in his life, he had a lady friend.

As for Haldir, rumour had it that Uruviel had abandoned him for Rumil.

No one really knew whether it was accurate or not, but then again, the Marchwarden was as prickly as a porcupine (despite his many fans).

Half the elves hummed and flushed pink as they floated round the halls, and the other half scowled and kicked the ground. In both Mirkwood and Lothlorien, elves were doing the exact same thing: even Prince Legolas (I shan't tell you which one, though, or he'll have my head). Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn waltzed round the Mirror, King Thranduil held his wife in his arms, and Elrond and Celebrian smiled at each other underneath an arch of dew-spotted flowers. The "famous" elves of Middle-Earth (being Haldir, Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel, and Legolas) were surrounded by a swarm of lovestruck ladies.

Needless to say, Elladan and Elrohir enjoyed this greatly.

Love was in the air.

Glorfindel absolutely hated it.

"_Flowers of mine, fragrance divine_

_Red, white, and pink, all roses in shine_

_So this is love, a feeling so fine_

_My friend Glorfindel_

_Will sulk, pout, and whine…_"

"Oh, shut your trap," snapped Glorfindel.

"I take it that you like my poem," said Erestor drily. "It's for Celenil. Should I give her red or pink roses? Do you think Elrond would mind if I got them from his rosebush?"

"I don't _care_ about festivals," spouted the aggravated elf. "I don't give a _hoot_ about love, flowers, or– or– or anything!"

"The twins haven't told you their choice of beautiful lady-elf, then," said Erestor, grinning.

Lindir was regretting telling him the rumour about Glorfindel's blackmailed date.

"Oh, be quiet, and wipe that lamp over there."

Glorfindel, who was skillfully concealing his worry, went back to polishing Lady Celebrian's antique spoons. He had decided that he was sick of antique everything.

Lindir, on the other hand, was also worrying himself sick.

_I don't have a date,_ he thought. _Usually I wouldn't care, either. But at my age, male elves are expected to at least have courted _one _lady. Usually I wouldn't care. Why do I care whether I have a date or not?_

He shrugged it away. If he had a future wife, it wouldn't be very soon, anyway, and besides, all the female elves his age found him odd.

Erestor stopped wiping the lamp, and gave both his friends a glance.

"You do realize that in three days, we will be dancing with fair maidens?"

Glorfindel grunted.

"And giving them flowers? And eating honey cakes? And drinking Unky Thranduil's best rose nectar?"

Lindir refrained from reminding the pink-cheeked Erestor that the King of Mirkwood did not like being referred to as "Unky Thranduil".

"And– oh dear, I need to ask Silinde to register me for dance lessons. Tomorrow there's a waltz class and the limit of elves allowed is two hundred."

Glorfindel curled his lip and polished the last spoon.

"Do you think–" began Erestor.

"Oh, just go and boil your head," said Glorfindel, and stalked away.

Fortunately for Erestor, there was still a little room for the dance class. Silinde, who was giddy with excitement, had written his name down backwards, rendering it unreadable, but Elrond had spotted the mistake and given Silinde a rap on the head (in case he had bees in his brain).

The morning and afternoon went by quite smoothly, but Lindir spent most of it in bed. The night before had not been kind to him; he had not slept a wink.

"Two days before Lovers' Day!" said Erestor brightly. "Today, and tomorrow!"

"Yippee," said Glorfindel gloomily. "You still haven't asked Celenil, I noticed."

"Er… about that…"

Lindir was not listening. He was lost in memory lane, or, to be particular, thinking about what had occurred thirty-five minutes ago.

He had been strolling through the trees, and had seen something falling from the sky. Mistaking it for a star, he wished on it, and thought, "I wish I could meet my true love today".

It turned out to be a cherry pit, and it hit Lindir on the nose.

Rubbing it, and sighing (shooting stars didn't come out during day, after all), he had felt miserable, and ran towards the garden for comfort under the shade. He was almost there when he bumped into another elf and they went sprawling on the grass.

Lindir felt around and he figured he had a bruise on his cheek. It hurt when he pressed it.

He then remembered that he had bumped into someone.

Lindir quickly got up. "I'm sorry–"

He gasped. The elf, who had run into him, was very frail and fragile-looking.

No. Not a male elf. It was a maiden.

And a very beautiful one.

He figured most people thought her to be plain, since she did not wear bright fabrics. Her hair, pale and flaxen, was straight and unadorned. Her face was normal enough: small, straight nose, a small mouth, and softened cheekbones. But what really entranced Lindir was her eyes. They were a pale green-blue, framed with short lashes, and shone with amusement perpetually.

The elf maiden stood, brushed dirt off her dress, and smiled at Lindir.

It was that moment that Lindir decided he was in love.

"Good morning," she said. "You are Lindir, I presume? Lord Elrond told me that you might be here."

She struggled with many of the Elvish words, and Lindir wondered where she was from.

"Y-Yes," said Lindir. "My name is Lindir."

"Oh, good," said the maiden. "I do not know Rivendell. King Thranduil sent my friends and I to bring the nectar. Lord Elrond said… uh… that you would be able to show me around."

"Oh. Yes. Okay," he had said. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Lainen," she replied. "My father was an Elf and my mother from the race of Men. Father died from orcs, and Mother did not know Elvish, so my words are little."

"That's all right," said Lindir. "I will teach you."

And he did. For twenty minutes, they strolled through Rivendell, greeting everyone, while Lindir taught his new friend words such as 'library' and 'Lovers' Day'. Silinde spotted them as he went through a shelf of love poetry, and whistled loudly.

This caused Lainen to giggle and Lindir to turn purple-pink.

After, he had shown her to her temporary quarters (it was a good thing that Rivendell was full of empty rooms; the entire of Lothlorien, Rivendell, and Mirkwood would be staying for three weeks as a Lovers' Day holiday. Besides, it was too much of a bother to walk all the way to Rivendell, stay for one day, and walk back.), Lindir had rejoined Glorfindel and Erestor. They were just finishing up chores; the other elves were now helping with decorations and cooking (three realms' full of elves was a lot to feed).

"I asked Celenil to the festival," admitted Erestor, breaking Lindir's train of thought.

"Did she say yes?"

Glorfindel, for the first time ever, sounded the slightest interested.

Erestor, face as deep red as Lord Elrond's premium rosebushes, nodded.

Glorfindel cracked a grin.

Lindir smiled, too.

"I have a potential date for Lovers' Day," he announced. Glorfindel and Erestor nearly fainted.

"You?" snorted Glorfindel.

"No kidding," gasped Erestor.

"Her name is Lainen and she's from Mirkwood," said Lindir triumphantly.

"Who would've known?"

"Lindir _dancing_! Lindir can't dance to save his life!"

Unfortunately, that was completely true.


	3. Dates, Plots, and Plans

**Chapter 3: Dates, Plots, and Plans**

There was yet another problem. Lindir had nothing to wear.

"You can borrow some of my clothes," offered Erestor.

"Too skinny," said Lindir after trying.

"You can borrow Glorfindel's."

"NO. I WON'T LET YOU."

"Anyways, they're far too big. We're not the same height."

Erestor thought for a moment, and went to get a random elf from the hall for advice.

"Silinde," said the elf, who was one of the cooks. "He's got the most clothes."

"…but he likes lavender. I look terrible in lavender."

Erestor frowned.

"Well, he does have that dark purple tunic. Violet. It would go with your hair."

"Go with my–!"

"Bother you, Lindir," scolded the cook. "Anyway, my sister is a tailor. I'm sure I can arrange for her to make you some suitable clothes. Say– you don't wear dark colours all the time, do you?"

"Yes, I do, in fact."

Lindir was beginning to feel frazzled. No wonder Glorfindel didn't like fashion.

Meanwhile, the twins were snickering in Elrond's study.

"Perfect!" crowed one of them (Elrohir, I think).

"She's just perfect!" he continued. "Let's see again: outgoing and cheerful disposition, very charming, epitome of happiness. Bit sardonic, a bit sarcastic. Glorfindel will love her!"

"Or hate her," said Elladan. "Glorfindel despises disgustingly happy people."

"No," said Elrohir. "He just hates happy people. _Everyone_ hates disgustingly happy people. And besides, she _radiates_ energy. And to top it off, she's never heard of him!"

"Not a fan!" gasped Elladan. "The horror!"

The twins collapsed in laughter, and Silinde, who was nearing the library (searching again for love poetry, no doubt), wondered what was so funny.

Finally! It was the day!

Lindir wiped his forehead. He had just asked Lainen to be his date for the festival five minutes ago, and she had said yes. He hurried to the baths– the Mirkwood elves (not to be outdone by the Lothlorien citizens) had arrived two hours early. When the Lothlorien elves came, everyone would settle down and arrange their belongings. The baths would be full (which was why Lindir was coming before time), the tailors would be stressed (doing last-minute corrections), and in the afternoon, the festival would start.

Last year the celebration lasted for the entire two weeks of their vacation. Most likely it would be the same this time, too.

Lindir checked the schedule again. Elrond was in a panic (someone had misplaced his robes), and Lady Celebrian had handed him the responsibilities.

He read through the ten-page booklet (seeing if the performances were overlapping, or if anyone was absent), made a few corrections, handed it to Silinde (with instructions to return the papers to Celebrian), and went for his bath.

Minutes later, Lindir emerged, clean and donning a dark purple tunic (not belonging to Silinde, thank the Valar). It was from the very back of his closet; a nearly black lump of cloth that the cook's sister had turned into proper clothing. It was rather stunning, really, after it had been washed and tailored. There was a silver clasp at the neck and tiny gold buttons down the front. Dark blue veins ran through the cloth, and were only seen if one looked closely. Another vest-like robe, of redder shade than the tunic, was to be worn on top. It had no sleeves, was very long, and gave Lindir a rather elegant look.

He didn't mind his appearance much, though, because as he stood next to Lainen, he knew he looked far duller. Lainen, who was wearing a simple dress, had her smile lighting up the room. Her lovely pale hair was not braided intricately as any other maiden's, but was flowing free like it was when they first met.

"Lothlorien's here!" someone shouted.

Lindir jumped to attention.

Sure enough, a long line of glowing elves, dressed in pale golds and silvers (some in white, others in a shimmering grey) paraded into Rivendell. Leading the line was Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Both looked as if the long walk had taken no effort.

And, at their arrival, the fuss began.

"Phew," said Erestor. "That was close."

"What?"

Glorfindel, wearing silver-grey, scowled and pulled at his shirt.

"Oh, stop that." Erestor gave his friend a look, and waved over Silinde.

"It's just that everyone's waiting for a turn at the baths," he replied. "In the males' room, Elladan and Elrohir have plastered soap all over the floor. There's a bunch of patients in the medical room right now."

"Stupid twins," said Glorfindel.

"Hello!" called Silinde, walking over to them. He was with a beautiful elf maiden, with the typical dark hair and grey eyes of all Rivendell elves. She smiled too, and her light blue gown sparkled.

"Elwen, this is Glorfindel and Erestor," said Silinde. Elwen poked his shoulder.

"I already know them, silly," she sighed.

Erestor did not know whether 'silly' referred to Silinde's current unintelligence, or whether it was an abbreviation for his name.

"I heard you're going with Celenil," said Elwen to Erestor.

"Yes, I am," he said, surprised.

"Well, she's been waiting for you at the entrance for about two hours already."

"Yikes!"

Erestor made a beeline towards the flowery arch (where Celenil was patiently standing).

Glorfindel snickered.

"And you, Glorfy," said Elwen. "I know who the twins have chose for your date today. I'm not surprised, she's the perfect match. But I'm warning you: you're in for a shock."

"I am?" asked Glorfindel warily. But Silinde had whisked away his lady, and they were now going to the refreshments table.

Glorfindel took a last look in the mirror, straightened his hair a bit, and marched outside.

_I hope the twins haven't chosen a scary girl_, was all he could think.

Celenil was blushing terribly by the time Erestor had led her towards the refreshments table. Erestor did not have the pluck to ask why. Instead, he offered her a tart and a glass of rose nectar. She clapped a hand to her mouth, turned pinker, and ran away, green and white skirts fluttering about her.

Erestor stared after her with his mouth open, absolutely befuddled.

He went to ask Silinde for advice.

Once he had gotten hold of the lavender-scented ninny, he explained the situation.

"You haven't done anything wrong," assured Silinde. "She's just getting used to seeing you in your handsome clothes."

Erestor looked down at his navy blue tunic.

"Er… really?"

"Yes. Just go find her and ask her for a dance. She'll be fine, I promise."

"O-Okay."

Glorfindel had forgotten about his date. He and Haldir were catching up after a long while. Rumil and Orophin, also hand-in-hand with pretty elven ladies, were raiding the honey cakes, so Haldir had freedom to speak.

"They asked Uruviel," he said. "I never said anything about wanting to go with her. Frankly, she isn't impressed with me, and I never spoke to her before."

"But… you like her," said Rumil, who reappeared.

The Marchwarden's face was slowly turning a baked potato purple, and he did not answer. Glorfindel smiled grimly.

"I don't know who my date is," he said. "The twins blackmailed me into letting them choose a maiden for me, and I'm not really looking forward to dancing."

Haldir grimaced. "Well, good luck. I'm about to ask Uruviel for a dance myself."

Uruviel appeared out of nowhere (with Orophin as well) and held Haldir's hand.

"All right," she said. "I accept. But it better not be a fast dance."

Haldir looked at her, her hand, his hand, her again, and turned pink.

Glorfindel coughed, trying to hide a laugh.

Haldir and Uruviel disappeared into the crowd, where Lindir and Lainen were setting up for the first five performances (which was entirely instrumental). Glorfindel was about to return to the refreshments table when he heard a familiar voice.

"GLORFY!"

Glorfindel turned paler and ran for his life.

"What is it?" said Erestor irritably. Glorfindel had interrupted his second dance, and he was not very happy about it.

Glorfindel explained quietly, and Erestor sighed.

"Go meet her," he said. "It's just a dance, Glor. Remember what I taught you? If you feel uncomfortable, ask if you can sit down or something. And don't go overboard with those honey cakes."

With that, Erestor pushed Glorfindel towards Elladan and Elrohir's direction.

_Traitor._ Glorfindel glowered as Elladan waved at him, a lady elf next to him (her face was concealed by a hood, so he did not get a glimpse of her).

It was only seven footsteps away from his date. He felt another panic attack coming, and attempted to calm himself down.

_You are a _Balrog-slayer_, Glorfindel!_ he scolded himself. _And yet you are afraid of a lady. A _lady! _Do not be frightened of such a little thing._

Straightening his posture, Glorfindel walked towards them.

Elrohir smiled at him.

"This is Maeweth," he said.

The maiden drew her hood back a little, revealing a tumble of red-gold hair. She drew it even more back, and Glorfindel spotted a ghost of a smile lingering on her lips. She drew it behind her head, and Glorfindel suddenly could not breathe.

_Ai Valar._

He coughed, and took deep breaths.

Maeweth was a stunning beauty. Her hair was not as long and straight as the other elves', but curled wildly to a few inches beneath her shoulders, and was adorned with two small braids draping down her front. She had sharp amber eyes, cunning and piercing. Her skin was pale and smooth, and her nose was sharp and pronounced. Maeweth wore a very simple dress, one that had long, clinging sleeves and a loosely gathered neckline.

She was the most beautiful maiden Glorfindel had ever seen.

Glorfindel could feel a word tickling its way out of his mouth.

_What word was it again?_

He racked his head.

Suddenly, it was squirming in his throat again. The last thing he thought before he uttered it was, _I hope it's nothing stupid._

"Turnips," Glorfindel said promptly (and confidently).

Elrohir and Elladan collapsed in shrieking laughter.

Glorfindel felt heat rise to his face and his tunic felt a whole lot warmer.

Maeweth tipped her head like a cat and examined him for a silent ten minutes (the twins chuckling in the background).

"I," she said finally, dignified, "am _not_ a turnip."

Elladan clutched his stomach and rolled around helplessly.

Maeweth gave him a chilling look. Then, she rolled up her sleeves (Glorfindel watching her quizzically) and took his arm. He stared at her.

"Well, you didn't look as if you were going to offer it, so I figured I better be the first," she said, and, swallowing, he led her to the refreshments.

Elrohir sniggered and leaned on his brother's shoulders.

"This is going to be a very fun rest of the day."

_Oh, bugger. I am screwed._

Erestor shut his eyes and opened them, craning his neck up.

Minutes ago, he and his date had been shoved, by no other than Lords Elladan and Elrohir, into a small clearing, two trees arching their branches over their heads. And guess what was hanging from those branches?

Mistletoe, that's what!

_Ai Valar! Ai elves and men and hobbits! ACK! WHY, LADY OF LIGHT, WHY!? I know this is the Lover's Day festival, but why this monstrosity!?_

_They have mistletoe at Yuletide. Only Yuletide. It's not even close to winter! WHY IS THERE MISTLETOE NOW?!_

The Lady of Light, who happened to be standing not but four arm's lengths away from the small glade of grass, met his eyes. He gulped.

_Oops._

She raised an eyebrow.

"_Erestor, is it?_" said her voice, only it was in his head.

Erestor clutched at his ears and immediately began sweating.

"_I take that as a yes. This year, my elves have requested mistletoe, for a reason I cannot fathom. Perhaps they plan to shove two elves together under this unfortunate plant, and see what happens. I see the sons of Elrond have already accomplished this._"

Some elf whistled slowly. Celenil stood still as a statue, red from head to toe.

"_What are you waiting for?_" prodded another voice.

A very familiar voice.

_WHY CAN THE TWINS DO THIS TELEPATHIC THING? _thought Erestor furiously.

"_This 'telepathic thing' comes naturally to very intelligent individuals, which you are not exactly being the ideal model for. Kiss her already!_"

Many elves were gathering round the small, leafy glade, whistling and shouting encouragement and clapping their hands. And they were chanting, as well.

Erestor blanched as the words reached his ears.

Celenil flicked him a glance.

She mumbled something that sounded like, "If you don't, I will", and plunged headfirst into his face.

Erestor yelped. And blushed. And began sweating again. And cursed those sneaky, nosy, idiotic twins.

But not for long.

Before he knew it, he was smiling like a moron under the unexpected (and still stupid) branches of mistletoe.


	4. How Doth One Dance?

**Chapter 4: How Doth One Dance?**

Lindir felt his stomach clench and unclench as he led Lainen onto the dance floor – that is to say, meadow. Lady Galadriel was smiling serenely like she always did, standing next to a sulking Thranduil ("and then I told him, _honestly,_ Legolas, _she's a _commoner! A _SYLVAN!_ THE CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD, FOR THE LOVE OF VALAR! But _nooo_, he didn't listen! He just _HAD_ to ask her to dance!" "Oh, shut up, Thranduil.") Celeborn was in a heated discussion with Elrond ("I'm telling you, Thranduil's slipped some sort of alcohol into the rose nectar!")

Lindir coughed. Lainen was staring at him again. He hoped he didn't look silly.

He could hear some hooting and catcalls, and glimpsed a crimson-faced Erestor standing beneath… was that mistletoe?

_Yes, it is,_ said a resounding voice in his head.

Lindir gulped. _Lady Galadriel?_

_Naturally. Now, Elrond's harpers are beginning to play _Etude in G, _which is my favourite song._

Lindir gaped.

_Don't open your mouth. You aren't a gargoyle, are you?_

He shut his mouth, and the voice receded from his head.

He didn't dare ask what a gargoyle was.

Lindir stepped into the soft dewy grass. He sighed, and as the harpers struck up Etude in G, elves about him began to dance.

There was a moment of immense relief.

He had actually managed _not_ to fall on his face and humiliate himself, and thanked Illuvatar for the sudden talent at dancing. All about them, elves were swaying and turning, slippered feet (and unslippered feet) stepping about and about and about–

Suddenly dizzy, he asked Lainen if they could stop for a moment. She nodded, and they walked back to the refreshments table.

"Rose nectar?" he asked her.

"All right," said Lainen. "I've heard many things about this nectar of yours. Let's try it."

As he poured a glass for her, he noticed a stiff, tall figure across the meadow, standing next to a red-haired maiden.

"I wonder how Glorfindel's doing," he said.

As a matter of fact, Glorfindel was not "doing" so well. His teeth were gritted together again and again as he glanced at Maeweth, who was occupied with her nails, looking quite emotionless.

"Er – er – " he muttered, as the harpers struck up another tune.

"Would I like to dance?" said Maeweth, correctly interpreting the Balrog-slayer's babbling as an attempt at conversation.

Glorfindel nodded, then shook his head in a panic.

_NO!_ his head screamed. _What are you thinking? You didn't even bother going to the dance instruction class, and you can't even do a simple waltz, by the Valar. WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?!_

We will have a moment of silence to dwell on the fact that Glorfindel was actually _not_ thinking when he had accepted the "mystery date" bargain.

Maeweth raised an eyebrow regally and pulled him into the dance floor.

_Oh, #($*5}&%$$#._

Erestor, whose face was yet to return to its normal colour, was now engaged in a conversation with Celenil. Saelbeth was exchanging jokes with Rumil. Haldir was standing by himself, looking crabby. Even _Silinde_ was prancing like a pony on the grass.

Glorfindel felt ill.

But seeing the look on Maeweth's face, he did not dare to stop dancing.

"So," said Maeweth, "do me a favour and _not_ act like a cave troll."

"Oh– er– "

"May I remind you that this is a _festival_ and not a _funeral_?"

"Uh – yes, I mean, I know."

Glorfindel's face was scrunched up in confusion.

Maeweth rolled her eyes and snatched two honey cakes from a platter near them.

"Honey cake?"

"Th-Thanks."

His mouth was too dry to eat anything, but for the sake of propriety (and manners) her took a bite.

"Now, I didn't ask to be your date either," said Maeweth crisply, "but that is no excuse for you maintaining the expression of a constipated orc."

_She called me a _constipated orc! thought Glorfindel.

Maeweth gave him a 700-watt glare when he did not respond.

"In other words, make an attempt at conversation, or ERU HELP ME I'LL _FORCE_ YOU TO CONVERSE_!"_

Glorfindel looked at Maeweth to see if she was joking or not, and was relieved to see a glint of amusement in her eye.

"Got your attention," she said smugly.

"Fine," sighed Glorfindel. "What would you like to talk about?"

"For starters, what do you do in your free time?"

They waltzed right to the edge of the meadow.

"Training," said Glorfindel. "I have yet to meet a person who can beat me at using a sword."

"I bet I could," he thought he heard her mutter. Maeweth turned to him after getting a glass of nectar, and smiled.

"What else? Surely you don't fence your way through the ages."

He couldn't help himself. He snorted.

"All right, then. I help Elrond with paper work, sometimes. And occasionally I visit the library to bug Erestor. Elladan and Elrohir tail me everywhere I go, so I have to be careful; I've already lost count of how many times they used the old bucket-of-water-on-the-door trick."

"That's it?" said Maeweth.

"What do you mean?"

"You must have a very boring life."

"… what?"

"You must have something you love to do other than training!" Maeweth looked a bit miffed.

"I… I don't know."

"Well then, is there anything you're _remotely_ interested in?"

Glorfindel finished his nectar and stared at the blue unwavering sky above him.

"In Gondolin, I used to watch the stars," he said, "and my mother always was with me. I don't do it anymore, though."

"Because it reminds you of her," said Maeweth quietly.

"Yes."

They spun in silence, and the song changed.

"So… is that what you want?"

Glorfindel was beginning to get a headache.

"What do you mean?"

"How'd you like to watch the stars with me today?"

Erestor gave Silinde a peevish look. The lavender-clad elf was whistling in their direction _again_, and it was already TEN minutes after their mistletoe adventure, by the Valar!

"Don't let him bother you," said Celenil suddenly. "Biscuit?"

"Thanks."

"No problem."

There was a pause.

"I see Glorfindel's having fun with his date."

"What?" Erestor craned his neck around to see.

Sure enough, Glorfindel was chatting comfortably with the red-haired elf maiden. Erestor, who was usually irritated by the presence of the Balrog-slayer, was surprised to find himself happy for him.

_Weird._

There was a flash of lavender, and Silinde shoved them under _yet another_ branch of mistletoe.

"DO YOU EVER KNOW WHEN TO STOP!?" hollered Erestor, going red in the face.

Silinde and Saelbeth responded with another whistle.

Just as they strolled away, chuckling darkly, Elwen grabbed Silinde's arm and shoved _him_ under another branch of mistletoe.

And even stiff, formal, book-obsessed Erestor had to laugh when Elwen planted a firm kiss on Silinde's cheek, rendering the lavender elf speechless.


End file.
